 | The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal |  |
Alice's Story.
PART I.
The firelight softly glanced upon
Dark braids and sunny curls,
Where, in a many-windowed room,
Yet dim with late November gloom,
Were busy groups of girls.
Dark braids and sunny curls,
Where, in a many-windowed room,
Yet dim with late November gloom,
Were busy groups of girls.
Some sat apart to learn alone;
Some studied side by side;
Some gathered round a master's chair
In reverent silence; others there
For readiest answer tried.
Some studied side by side;
Some gathered round a master's chair
In reverent silence; others there
For readiest answer tried.
For one young name a summons came,
And Alice quickly rose:
The rapid pen aside is laid;
The call once heard must be obeyed
At once,—as well she knows.
And Alice quickly rose:
The rapid pen aside is laid;
The call once heard must be obeyed
At once,—as well she knows.
Yet with no joyous step or smile
She hastens now away,
A teacher's earnest look to meet,
Whose hand is filled with music sweet,
As hers shall be one day.
She hastens now away,
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Whose hand is filled with music sweet,
As hers shall be one day.
Beside her at the instrument
A place her teacher takes,
With patient eye, yet keenest ear;
And Alice knows that he will hear
The slightest fault she makes.
A place her teacher takes,
With patient eye, yet keenest ear;
And Alice knows that he will hear
The slightest fault she makes.
Oh, such a music-task as this
Was never hers before!
So long and hard, so strange and stern,—
A piece she thinks she cannot learn,
Though practised o'er and o'er.
Was never hers before!
So long and hard, so strange and stern,—
A piece she thinks she cannot learn,
Though practised o'er and o'er.
It is not beautiful to her,—
She cannot grasp the whole:
The Master's thought was great and deep,—
A mighty storm, to seize and sweep
The wind-harp of the soul.
She cannot grasp the whole:
The Master's thought was great and deep,—
A mighty storm, to seize and sweep
The wind-harp of the soul.
She only plays it note by note,
With undeveloped heart;
She does not glimpse the splendour through
Each chord, so difficult and new,
Of veiled and varied art.
With undeveloped heart;
She does not glimpse the splendour through
Each chord, so difficult and new,
Of veiled and varied art.
Unwonted beat and weird repeat
She cannot understand;
She stumbles on with clouded brow,—
Her cheek is flushed, and aching now
The weary little hand.
She cannot understand;
She stumbles on with clouded brow,—
Her cheek is flushed, and aching now
The weary little hand.
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She looked up in her teacher's face;
Tears were not far away:
‘Must I go on till it is done?
Oh, let me change it, sir, for one
That I can better play.
Tears were not far away:
‘Must I go on till it is done?
Oh, let me change it, sir, for one
That I can better play.
‘I cannot make it beautiful,—
It has no tune to sing;
And when I am at home, I fear
My friends will never care to hear
This long and dreary thing.’
It has no tune to sing;
And when I am at home, I fear
My friends will never care to hear
This long and dreary thing.’
He said, ‘If you might freely choose,
My child, what would you learn?’
‘Oh, I would have the “Shower of Pearls,”
Or “Soldiers’ March,” like other girls,
And quick approval earn;
My child, what would you learn?’
‘Oh, I would have the “Shower of Pearls,”
Or “Soldiers’ March,” like other girls,
And quick approval earn;
‘Or sweet Italian melodies,
With brilliant run and shake:
If you would only give me such,
I think that I could please you much,—
Such progress I should make.’
With brilliant run and shake:
If you would only give me such,
I think that I could please you much,—
Such progress I should make.’
‘Learn this, and it will please me more,’
Said he, with kindest voice:
‘And though 'tis now so hard to play,
Trust me, you will be glad some day
That I have ruled your choice.’
Said he, with kindest voice:
‘And though 'tis now so hard to play,
Trust me, you will be glad some day
That I have ruled your choice.’
Tears trembled on the lash, and now
His face she could not see;
Once more she pleaded, as they fell,
‘But I shall never play it well:
It is too hard for me!’
His face she could not see;
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‘But I shall never play it well:
It is too hard for me!’
‘One thing I grant,’ he said: ‘that you
May fully, freely tell
Your father, who is kind and wise:
And, Alice, what he shall advise,
Say, will it not be well?’
May fully, freely tell
Your father, who is kind and wise:
And, Alice, what he shall advise,
Say, will it not be well?’
Again she came, and stumblingly
The hard sonata played:
Another week had passed away,
With toilsome practice every day,
Yet small the progress made.
The hard sonata played:
Another week had passed away,
With toilsome practice every day,
Yet small the progress made.
Her father's writing, bold and clear,
Lay on the instrument:
‘Your letter safely came to me,
And now shall answer lovingly
To my dear child be sent.
Lay on the instrument:
‘Your letter safely came to me,
And now shall answer lovingly
To my dear child be sent.
‘The hardest gained is best retained;
You learn not for to-day:
I cannot grant your fond request;
Your teacher certainly knows best,—
So trust him and obey.’
You learn not for to-day:
I cannot grant your fond request;
Your teacher certainly knows best,—
So trust him and obey.’
The teacher spoke; she listened well,
No word of his to miss:
‘Alice, I want to make of you
An artist, noble, high, and true;
And no light thing is this.
No word of his to miss:
‘Alice, I want to make of you
An artist, noble, high, and true;
And no light thing is this.
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‘There's happier, better work in store
Than merry tunes to play:
You have a mission to fulfil,—
You do not know it; but I will
Prepare you as I may.
Than merry tunes to play:
You have a mission to fulfil,—
You do not know it; but I will
Prepare you as I may.
‘Will you believe that I know best,
And persevere, my child?’
She answered, with a little sigh,
‘Yes: I will trust, and I will try;’
And then her teacher smiled.
And persevere, my child?’
She answered, with a little sigh,
‘Yes: I will trust, and I will try;’
And then her teacher smiled.
PART II.
Long has the school been left behind,
For years have passed away:
We find her now where evening light
Fades not into the darksome night,
But melts into the day.
For years have passed away:
We find her now where evening light
Fades not into the darksome night,
But melts into the day.
There, in an arched and lofty room,
She stands, in fair white dress;
Where grace and colour and sweet sound
Combine and cluster all around,
And rarest taste express.
She stands, in fair white dress;
Where grace and colour and sweet sound
Combine and cluster all around,
And rarest taste express.
'Tis Alice still, but woman grown
In hand and head and heart:
And those who now around her throng
Are skilled in music and in song,
In learning and in art.
In hand and head and heart:
And those who now around her throng
Are skilled in music and in song,
In learning and in art.
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It was an evening of delight
To be remembered long,
With many a reach of vivid thought,
And many a vision artist-wrought,
And—crown of all that friendship brought—
The eloquence of song.
To be remembered long,
With many a reach of vivid thought,
And many a vision artist-wrought,
And—crown of all that friendship brought—
The eloquence of song.
The North is bright, with lingering light
To Northern summers given,—
A tender loveliness that stays
When twilight falls upon the days,
As silence falls in heaven.
To Northern summers given,—
A tender loveliness that stays
When twilight falls upon the days,
As silence falls in heaven.
‘Now, Alice: now the time is come!
Sweet music you have poured;
But, in this gentle twilight fall,
Give now the very best of all
That in your heart is stored.
Sweet music you have poured;
But, in this gentle twilight fall,
Give now the very best of all
That in your heart is stored.
‘Give now the Master's masterpiece;
All silent we will be:
And you shall stir our inmost souls,
While, like a fiery river, rolls
Beethoven's harmony.’
All silent we will be:
And you shall stir our inmost souls,
While, like a fiery river, rolls
Beethoven's harmony.’
An instrument was by her side,—
A new and glad possession,
Whose perfect answering conveyed
Each delicate and subtle shade
Of varying expression.
A new and glad possession,
Whose perfect answering conveyed
Each delicate and subtle shade
Of varying expression.
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She needed no reminding score,
For memory was true:
And what is learnt in childish years,
Deep graven on the mind appears
Our life's whole journey through.
For memory was true:
And what is learnt in childish years,
Deep graven on the mind appears
Our life's whole journey through.
And so she only had to let
The long-known music flow
From happy heart and steady hand,
As with a magic flame-command,
Enkindling in the listening band
A full responsive glow.
The long-known music flow
From happy heart and steady hand,
As with a magic flame-command,
Enkindling in the listening band
A full responsive glow.
Through shade more beautiful than light,
Through hush of softest word,
Through calm and silence, still and deep
As angel-love or seraph sleep,
The opening notes were heard.
Through hush of softest word,
Through calm and silence, still and deep
As angel-love or seraph sleep,
The opening notes were heard.
| The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal | |